Ode to a frittata, or 

the love of my life

 

by Jenn Kucharz

You are always gone much too fast.

The tangled vines of your aroma

are much more than the sum of your parts –

I can’t inhale enough.

Why is there such pleasure in having you alone

when I can softly smile at the image of you for only I?

And you’ll share with me your sweetest tastes

your inner beauty

your collisions and harmonies

your parallel universe.

 

You’re done now

must wait for another day

maybe even two

(is that torture?!)

 

Never scheduled

forever sweet

surprise of spontaneity.